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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30052020">As The World Caves In</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/daydreamstory/pseuds/daydreamstory'>daydreamstory</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Canonical Child Abuse, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, First War with Voldemort, Fluff and Angst, Growing Up, Marauders, Marauders Era (Harry Potter), Marauders Friendship (Harry Potter), POV Original Female Character, POV Regulus Black, Regulus Black Deserves Better, Requited Love, Violence, wolfstar</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 03:00:21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>11,197</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/30052020</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/daydreamstory/pseuds/daydreamstory</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>And when he landed at the bottom of the lake, the last moments of his life slipping away, he could swear he felt her lips on his, her fingers threaded between his own. He smiled in the faces of the dead who grabbed at him, coughed out his remaining breaths in a gargled laugh, and before he closed his eyes for the last time he could hear her voice somewhere in the dark, sweet and longing. </p><p>Let me in, love. Let me share life with you. </p><p>He reached for her. His heart stopped beating. </p><p>Number Twelve Grimmauld Place had always been cold, but death was colder.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Regulus Black/Original Female Character(s), Sirius Black/Remus Lupin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Number Twelve Grimmauld Place</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h1>Chapter 1: Number Twelve Grimmauld Place</h1><p>Number Twelve Grimmauld Place had always been cold.</p><p>The walls lined with scowling ancestral portraits, each more miserable than the last. Ornate wallpaper and 17th century rugs, ancient artifacts that seemed to leak a steady stream of dark magic into the air surrounding them.</p><p>Cold. In the way that made your bones ache, your soul curl in on itself, your skin turn to leather.</p><p>Even when it’s foundation was first laid, bricks were slapped together with mortar colder than the blood running through the veins of the Black family tree. Bricks laid by muggle hands, mind you, but Walburga Black would have a right fit if anyone knew such a thing.</p><p>No, if you asked her she would tell you that the Blacks had built the place from the ground up. That one of her long dead ancestors stumbled upon the quiet street in northwestern London and thought to themselves –– <em>what a shame that there are two beautiful townhomes here, numbers eleven and thirteen, but no twelve</em> –– and set off that day to draw up the plans for the godsforsaken place.</p><p>
Home to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. What a fucking joke. 
</p><p>Regulus couldn’t remember a moment of his life that he hadn’t shivered as he walked through the halls of his childhood home, dodging loose floorboards in fear of alerting his mother to his presence. Sirius had taught him that early on. ‘So you don’t get your arse beat.’ That’s what he said.</p><p>Regulus’ earliest memory was of that very thing. Arse beatings, that is. He could hear it all from his room on the fourth floor, the cries of his older brother echoing up through the walls from the cellar while his mother ordered Kreacher to whip the soles of his feet. All Sirius had done was sneak downstairs for a sweet after bedtime. A chocolate for Regulus and a sugar quill for himself.</p><p>Sirius cried for hours that night, even once Kreacher brought him up the stairs and to his bed. Regulus crawled in beside him and hugged him close, he didn’t know what else to do. He was only four years old then, and his brother six.</p><p>There were other memories too, of course. Ones less bloody but few and far between. The happiest –– of days spent with his brother flying low on broomsticks at his Uncle Alphard’s, secret games of wizard’s chess played under the glow of an enchanted candle conjured by Kreacher at his young masters’ request, secrets and dreams shared on the brink of sleep.</p><p>The others –– of afternoons spent on a tailoring block, being poked and prodded by house elves who measured his waist and height for dress robes far too intricate to be worn by a child. Of sessions with his governess, learning French and basic arithmancy in the morning, family history and etiquette in the evening. That is, when he wasn’t forced along to social events with the rest of his family.</p><p>Events which Sirius appropriately called ‘Azkabanquets’ for the general misery and company they involved. <em>“That Mulciber boy might even be worse than a dementor, Reggie. Sucks the soul right out of you.”</em></p><p>Regulus thought his brother might be the funniest person in the world.</p><p>But even Sirius’ best jokes couldn’t save the two of them from the horrors of said banquets and soirees. All humor died on the spot when Regulus’ mother combed through his hair with a glob of Sleakeazy’s, molding his curls into a smooth wave across his head. By the time she stuffed him into dress robes and a pair of dragonhide shoes he hardly recognized himself.</p><p>The family would gather in the drawing room and share a moment of obligatory silence, the kind that ought to have been reserved for funerals. Regulus’ mother would make sharp eye contact with him and Sirius, speaking silent warnings in the way her eyes narrowed. It suffocated him beneath his primly buttoned cumberbund. Then, in an unceremonious toss of floo powder, his father would whisk them off to some ballroom or manor belonging to the Rosiers or Yaxleys or Malfoys.</p><p>Regulus would have to spend the rest of the night beside his equally miserable brother, shaking hands and giving politely rehearsed answers to the questions they were asked. They kept their shoulders squared and heads high, lest they fall victim to a stinging jinx from their mother who silently watched them from across the room.</p><p>
  <em> Has your father told you the stories of our first year in Slytherin? The two of us could hardly stay out of detention. Real troublemakers, we were.</em></p><p>“Yes sir, father has told us all about it.” <em>Insert polite smile here.</em></p><p>
  <em>Your mother has shared the rumors of what’s become of the Prewett family, surely. A shame to waste pure blood on people like that. You don’t associate with their type, you understand?</em>
</p><p>“Yes ma’am.” Their mother’s words poured out from their mouths. “The House Black is ashamed to hear of it.”</p><p>
  <em>Those dolts fighting for Squib Rights ought to be taken down. You’ve seen it in the Prophet? Have your governess teach you about them, okay? Nasty things. Worse than mudbloods if you ask me.</em>
</p><p>“Of course, sir.” The boys’ remained tight lipped on such topics as those. The Black family had it’s fair share of squibs, including their great uncle Marius, each promptly scorched from the family tree once it was realized.</p><p>
  <em>You both will have to meet my daughter, Sylvia. A bit young for you both now, sure, but she will make a fine wife soon enough. Isn’t she beautiful?</em>
</p><p>Regulus did well to maintain his well-practiced air of indifference until things like that were spoken.</p><p>Sylvia was four at the time and Regulus was pretty sure she was his second cousin. He remembered attending her first birthday party a few years before. Sirius managed to give a practiced smile to the young girl and her father. Regulus gaped.</p><p>Of course, his mother chose those sorts of moments to check in on her sons, always catching the poorly placed eye rolls and yawns and other sorts of unsightly manners. Half drunk on elf-made wine, she’d drag them by their ears through the Floo for a proper scolding in the privacy of their own home. Within seconds of returning to the drawing room she descended upon them with a spitting sort of admonition. Different approaches for each of her boys.</p><p>
  <em>“Regulus Black, you should know better. A shame you’ve had to live under the influence of such a brother. He is no heir to this house. It’s your responsibility now, Regulus. My sweetest son. Don’t let him change you. You will make this family proud.”</em>
</p><p>Regulus wouldn’t say a word. Only a nod of understanding, fueled by fear of what would come next. His brother didn’t share the same philosophy of silence. Too headstrong, too proud.</p><p>
  <em>“Sirius Black, you will ruin this family. I ask you for one night of good behavior and even that is too much for you to handle. Merlin, I am counting down the days until you leave for school. You should be ashamed of yourself for corrupting your poor brother. No hope for you. Pathetic.”</em>
</p><p><em>“You just hate that you can’t control me, mother!” </em>Sirius would spit back words just as fierce as those spoken to him. <em>“Have you ever considered that I might not want to inherit the reputations of this family? All of these people walking around with sticks up their arses like… like they’re better than everyone else! They aren’t. They are foul company to keep and I can’t stand it any longer.”</em></p><p>Then she’d send Sirius off to the cellar and Regulus back up to his room. She had Kreacher cast silencing charms around the dingy space once Regulus was older, as if he didn’t know what happened after Sirius’ outbursts. He sat with his ear pressed to his bedroom door, waiting for his brother’s return. Some nights, the silence was almost worse than the screams.</p><p>By the time Sirius came back upstairs, there would be no evidence left of the abuse he’d endured, wounds healed with a careful series of spells and sloppy swipes of dittany. Tear stained cheeks were the only evidence left, and even the tears stopped coming after a while. Sirius had to be strong, if not for himself then for his brother. Regulus wondered how he did it, managed to laugh and smile despite it all.</p><p><em>“It’ll be alright, Reg.” </em>He comforted his brother after limping up the stairs from an especially brutal beating. <em>“Nothing I can’t handle. You just be smarter than me, yeah? Keep quiet. Don’t let her get to you.”</em></p><p>Regulus feared that the scars of his mother’s hatred might have cut deeper than skin, that the wounds that marred his brother’s heart might never be healed, even by the greatest of magic. But he let himself believe the words anyway. <em>It’ll be alright.</em></p><p>His brother was never wrong. Never.</p><p>So he took the advice and kept quiet. Regulus’ mother and father never did hurt him, not the way that they did Sirius. His punishment came in the form of isolation, locked in his room for days on end with only a glass of water and his mother’s words of disappointment to keep him company.</p><p>Sirius would lay on the floor outside his room and read stories to him from The Tales of Beedle the Bard, embellishing the parts he thought were ‘too boring’ with details of his own. It was one of the few things that made Regulus smile inside of his makeshift prison cell. That is, until his mother banned the book from the house after finding it hidden under Sirius’ mattress.</p><p>Something about stories meant for blood traitors. It was a children’s book, for Merlin’s sake.</p><p>Regulus didn’t mind being locked up in his room though, especially given the alternative. Despite the gnawing cramps that came with days of hunger, it was warmer there, in his own little corner of the world. Free from the cool draft of air that settled in the lower floors of the home. Free from the icey demands of his governess. Free from the chill that came with his father’s stare, rough and presumptuous.</p><p>He’d have been happy to live and die in that room if it weren’t for everything outside it. A world that existed just past his door, one of blood purity and hatred. A world that plagued his nightmares, where he could never seem to live up to the overwhelming expectations of his own parents. A world where his only real friends were his brother and his house elf.</p><p>A world he was alone in once he waved goodbye to Sirius, seated on the Hogwarts Express with a smile bigger than the sun.</p><p>That was the first time that Regulus felt truly alone.</p><p>It was a cold feeling, one that slipped underneath his skin and into his bones. He could never seem to shake it.</p><p>Not when he read Sirius’ letters from school, stories of new friends and freedom and pranks gone wrong. Not when he finally joined his brother the next year, sorted into Slytherin and surrounded by the praises of his mother and father. Not when he received an Outstanding on all of his OWLs. Not when his hands shook with the remnants of one too many cruciatus curses, his skin stained black with ugly serpentine evidence of his new loyalties.</p><p>Not when he sucked in that first breath of murky water, drowning at the greedy hands of Inferi.</p><p>The only time that the loneliness went away was with <em>her</em>. When he watched her on their first day at school, staring up at the ceiling of the Great Hall with stars in her eyes. When she got angry and her magic sparked on the tips of her fingers in clouds of green and gold. When she curled up next to him with a book in her hands, her head on his chest. When she danced to muggle records like she was the only person in the world, young and carefree.</p><p>She was all consuming, love and light and everything he never knew he needed. She lived the way that magic felt. Electric, intoxicating. The fact that someone like her even existed was a mystery to Regulus. That she cared for someone like him, unbelievable.</p><p>She poured into him selflessly and without promise of reciprocity, gave him hope for a future, for a world he could call his own. She forgave apologies that she never received, waited patiently for change that would never come, believed in the impossible. Believed in him.</p><p>She was a strong witch, bright and powerful and <em>ridiculously</em> stupid.</p><p>Stupid enough to love someone like Regulus Black. Stupid enough to let him love her in return.</p><p>And he did love her. Immeasurably. He had since the moment he met her on the Hogwarts Express, bouncing in her seat with excitement. He wished he told that more, even just to see the way her cheeks flushed at his words, the shy smile that pulled at her lips. As if it were a secret shared only between the two of them, something that others would never be privy to.</p><p>He wished he told her more before he watched her crumble under the weight of his past, wrapped up in tendrils of dark magic that seemed to follow him wherever he wandered. <em>"You can’t live this life alone, Regulus."</em> She would tell him time and time again. <em>"Let me in, love. Let me share life with you."</em></p><p>He let her in only to repay her loyalty with betrayal, her honesty with deceit, to steal away her innocence and her hope and damn her to an unforgivable fate but she loved and loved and loved him through it all.</p><p>To the very end.</p><p>
  <em>Let me in, love.</em>
</p><p>She loved him until it destroyed her.</p><p>It was hard to say when she died. No final moments to share regrets and apologies and careful kisses. No grave to visit when he was lonely, to bring flowers to when he missed her most. She wasted away so slowly, hid it so well, that by the time anyone noticed it was too late. She was just –– <em>gone.</em></p><p><em>Johanne-Merie Potter. </em>His witch. His sweet Jo. Her blood stained his hands and haunted his memories, pouring over into the moments he held most sacred and saturating them in sticky, red shame.</p><p>She was gone and it was his fault. They all knew it.</p><p>Rosier and Wilkes shared a good laugh when they heard the news. Mulciber congratulated him, Avery slapped him on the back. Severus gave him a little smile, as much as he was capable of.</p><p>Sirius cursed and hexed him until his skin split at the seams and his tears turned red. Remus looked at him with pity. Peter pretended he didn’t exist. Lily cried at the mention of his name. And James–– well James couldn’t be trusted to be in the same room as him.</p><p>Sometimes Regulus wished they’d just let James do it, kill him. Other times, death was the thing he feared the most. Because every once in a while he could still feel the pulse of her magic, warm and bright somewhere deep inside of him. It was weakened to a low hum but unmistakably <em>hers</em> and it brought with it the memory of her smile, the way it felt to hold her in his arms. Sometimes he’d feel the slightest tug at his soul through the bond that tethered the two of them, not broken, never broken.</p><p>He lived for those moments. They gave him the strength to do what was right, what he should have done all along. They carried him through nights that he thought would be his last. They anchored him when he drank the last of the poison inside of the Crystal Cave, when his insides burned and brutal images of death and suffering flashed before his eyes. They gave him peace when his lungs filled with water shortly after, a whispered promise –– <em>just let go, you’ll see her again.</em></p><p>And when he landed at the bottom of the lake, the last moments of his life slipping away, he could swear he felt her lips on his, her fingers threaded between his own. He smiled in the faces of the dead who grabbed at him, coughed out his remaining breaths in a gargled laugh, and before he closed his eyes for the last time he could hear her voice somewhere in the dark, sweet and longing.</p><p>
  <em>Let me in, love. Let me share life with you. </em>
</p><p>He reached for her. His heart stopped beating.</p><p>Number Twelve Grimmauld Place had always been cold, but death was colder.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Not Nervous</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>For the first time in his life, Regulus knew what drowning felt like. At least, he figured he did. </p><p>The struggle to breathe, chest burning, sounds muffled and blood turning cold, thinking through every moment of the life he’d lived before and wondering how, <em> how </em>, this was the way it was all going to end. </p><p> </p><p>Death in the midst of King’s Cross Station, his obituary in the<em> Prophet </em> reading: Regulus Arcturus Black, beloved son of Orion and Walburga Black, regretfully passed away on August 31, 1972, surrounded by his family and a hundred snot-nosed muggles. To his mother’s dismay, he is survived by his brother, Sirius Orion Black, known to be the youngest blood traitor in all of wizarding history. In lieu of flowers, please consider signing the Ministry petition to remove muggle-sympathizer Eugenia Jenkins from office. No service will be held, as Black family tradition forbids it. (Far too tacky, funerals.) </p><p> </p><p>But, of course, dying would have been too convenient an end for someone like Regulus. He had responsibilities to fulfill, after all –– to waltz into the front doors of Hogwarts with all of the pureblood composure that his brother lacked, to make friends with other children of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, to perform in his classes, to stay out of trouble. Oh, and to find someone who might be a suitable wife. Because that was the goal of any well bred eleven year old boy. </p><p> </p><p>So he wasn’t drowning. No, he was very much alive. The sights and sounds and smells of King’s Cross were unfamiliar and altogether terrifying, crooked wheels of prams bumping over brick, clothing that revealed far too much skin to be considered decent, salt and smoke in the air that his mother claimed was typical of ‘<em> this side of town.’ </em> It was like stepping out into the sun after a decade in the shadows, bright and burning against sheltered alabaster skin. </p><p>His feet were planted firmly between platforms nine and ten, eyes wide as he hovered close to his mother where, strangely enough, he felt safe amongst the crowd of strangers. The devil you know and all that gab. </p><p> </p><p>He leaned one way, the other, stuck in a strange sort of limbo between muggle and wizarding London, present in both but belonging in neither. But that feeling was nothing new; it’d been his constant companion for the last year, in fact. With Sirius gone he just felt –– lost. Nowhere to belong, to settle, hovering between childhood and adolescence, freedom and captivity. </p><p> </p><p>He spent night after night dreaming of his impending escape; but, for once, Regulus wondered if a life outside the stone cold comfort of his family home was <em> really </em> what he wanted. For once, the beliefs his parents had forced upon him made a bit of sense. About the way muggles lived, the inferiority of it all, how twisted it was that someone born of such a world could have magic in their blood. </p><p>But sensical thought and familiarity were so easily confused in times such as those, when the only way to keep his head above water was by clinging to anything, everything, he’d been told was true. Clinging to his mother’s skirts, like a sodding ankle biter.</p><p> </p><p>“Ah,” his mother slapped his hand out of the air when he finally took a step away from her, reaching up towards the trolley carrying his luggage. “This place is filthy Regulus. You don’t dare touch that with your bare hands. Merlin knows what sort of filth is on it.” She placed a silky black handkerchief over the handle with a self satisfied smile. “Now then. Go on.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, mum.” He grabbed for the covered handle more carefully this time.</p><p> </p><p>“<em> Yes, mum,” </em> Sirius scoffed beside him, loud enough for his mother and half of King’s Cross to hear. It was the type of reaction that Regulus had become quite used to since his brother’s return for summer holiday. Hogwarts, more specifically Gryffindor, had planted in him a new sort of hatred for his family’s beliefs. <em> Toujours Pur </em>. All a bunch of rubbish, he claimed. </p><p> </p><p>“Watch this, Reggie.” Sirius whispered, rolling his shoulders back in preparation, a troubling glint in his eyes. </p><p> </p><p>He made a scene of raising his hands in the air and wiggling his fingers, earning only a sideways glance from his mother, entirely unamused. Then, without a moment’s hesitation, he dropped both hands on his own trolley, wrapping his fingers around the metal with a sticky smirk he’d perfected at some point during their year apart. <em> That </em> got him the reaction that he was looking for, of course. </p><p>His mother met him with a withering stare, one that would have scared Regulus shitless had he been on the receiving end, but Sirius didn’t so much as flinch. She reached towards her wand, a silent threat of retribution before he released his grip. </p><p> </p><p>“Oh bollocks, I’ve touched it with my bare hands.” His acting was impeccable, really, and Regulus might have even believed the innocent look in his brother’s eyes if he hadn’t spent the summer dealing with his newest antics. He looked down at his hands with feigned disgust, “What should I do, mum? All of this<em> filth </em> on me…” </p><p> </p><p>“Sirius Orion Black ––” There was only a single, loaded second between his mother’s warning and the moment Sirius leapt forward, dragging his hands down the front of her robes in a final act of summer rebellion. Regulus thought she might explode, the way her face turned red all the way up to her ears. </p><p> </p><p>She screeched. Sirius ran.</p><p>He narrowly missed the whip of her outstretched hand before heading towards the column between the platforms. “Always a pleasure, Walburga.” His final words before he disappeared through the brick, leaving behind the mess he’d made. </p><p> </p><p>And there was no doubt that Regulus would be responsible for cleaning it up, the same way he’d been responsible for Sirius’ sorting into Gryffindor, his endless detentions, his association with families far less than pure. But, thanks to the wandering eyes of muggle passengers, he was safe from his mother’s hexes for the time being. (Did he mention how much he loved the Statute of Secrecy?) </p><p>Instead he was forced to bite back a smile, keeping his composure through a series of stern reminders from his newly-muddied mother. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> You stay away from your brother at school, do you understand? And that Potter boy too. He’s trouble, that one. I expect you’ll meet the Carrow’s children soon, they’re in your year. Your father is in business with theirs, so you’ll be kind to them, Regulus. And you tell that blasted sorting hat where you belong, where the Black family belongs. Don’t let your brother sully your reputation alongside his. You’ll do so well, my boy. In Slytherin. Generations of Blacks are counting on you. You’ll make your family proud.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Anxiety crept up into his chest and around his heart, squeezing tighter with every word of warning. He knew better than to question his mother and settled for a small nod before she placed a kiss on his cheek, the closest thing to motherly affection she was capable of, and waved him off to the barrier.</p><p>He followed what Sirius had done only moments before, moving through brick that felt like nothing more than a silk screen. And those first steps felt a bit like flying, he thought. Freedom. </p><p> </p><p>Freedom, when he turned around and didn’t feel his mother’s cold stare on his back. Freedom, when he took in the sight of the train in front of him, red and black and billowing with steam. Freedom, when he met his waiting brother’s smile with one of his own, the first he’d <em> truly </em> meant in as long as he could remember. </p><p> </p><p>“You made it, Reggie.” Sirius beamed, wrapping an arm around his neck and squeezing tight. “You made it out.”</p><p> </p><p>He rolled his eyes at his brother, doing his best to slip out from his grasp but failing miserably. “You act like it’s something to be proud of.” </p><p> </p><p>“Well isn’t it? Eleven whole years cooped up with those crazy fuckers and somehow we didn’t end up in the Janus Thickey ward. I’d say that’s a pretty big accomplishment.” Sirius gave him a pointed look, “Now you’ve just gotta ditch all that muck they beat into your head, yeah? Make your own way. Have some fun.” </p><p> </p><p>Regulus knew exactly what his brother’s version of <em> ‘fun’ </em> was, including but not limited to: spending a thousand galleons from his <em> ‘emergency’ </em> vault at Gringotts on dung bombs, befriending every blood traitor and muggleborn he laid eyes on, seizing any opportunity to humiliate his mother, and taking a giant shite on family tradition. He considered himself a fair bit smarter than his older brother in that regard, and would abstain from said <em> ‘fun’ </em> in an effort to avoid the back of his father’s hand. </p><p> </p><p>“And get rid of this,” Sirius yanked the handkerchief off of his trolley. “Mum’s full of it. Muggles aren’t dirty, just different s’all.”</p><p> </p><p>Regulus wondered if there was a difference, really. He had half a mind to pick up the fabric from the ground but hesitated when he realized just how much he’d resemble his mother. Instead he pinched the handle between two fingers, careful not to touch any more than he had to. </p><p>It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Sirius’ experience with muggle filth (or lack thereof), it was just that –– no, no he really didn’t trust his brother at all when it came to those kinds of things. </p><p> </p><p>“Well c’mon then,” Sirius tugged at the sleeve of his robes, nodding towards the waiting train. “Can’t miss your getaway car, can you?” </p><p> </p><p>Regulus scrunched up his brow, “What’s a getaway ––”</p><p> </p><p>“You can sit with me and the boys.” Sirius interrupted, shouting over his shoulder as he set off towards the nearest train car. “James and Remus and Peter, y’know the ones I told you about? They’re the best. Like <em> real </em> mates Reg. I think you’ll like them.” </p><p> </p><p><em>Real</em> <em>mates</em>. Regulus was certain he’d never had any of those. Of course, he knew all about his Sirius’ new friends. He’d spent the last year pouring over his brother’s letters, each page filled with another story of spiders let loose in the girl’s lavatories or of sneaking around the castle under a charmed cloak. Those letters were the only things that got him through the past year, the only things that made him smile, hope. </p><p>But, as much as Regulus enjoyed them, the letters filled him with a strange feeling at times, nagging at the back of his mind as he re read them for the third, fourth, fifth time. He envied his brother’s friends, he realized, though he’d hardly admit such a thing out loud. It was childish and nonsensical but he felt it all the same. </p><p> </p><p>Envious that they got to see his brother smile, perhaps, that they got to hear him laugh in that reckless way he used to when they were children. Envious that they had earned his brother’s love so easily, something that Regulus used to hold dear. </p><p>He’d missed Sirius a great deal when he was away at school, spent his nights wishing for sleep and his days counting down to this very one, when they’d finally be together again. </p><p> </p><p>*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*</p><p> </p><p>The inside of the Hogwarts Express was greater than Regulus had ever imagined. Carriages filled with reds and golds and brass, robes adorned with patches of house colors, the chatter of reunited friends echoing off of the walls. He was overwhelmed by it all, unprepared for the liberties afforded to him all at once. </p><p> </p><p>No one was watching him to make sure he behaved or spoke in that practiced way his father liked. And the ones who did look up from their conversations as he passed were really only looking at Sirius, anyway. It was safe there, in his brother’s shadow. He could smile, he realized, laugh and stare and curse and stick out his tongue if he damn well pleased, no one around to reprimand him for it.</p><p> </p><p>Only, a part of him knew better than to do any of those things, lest one of his nosy cousins see. Instead he kept his head down, his eyes trained ahead. Didn’t smile, didn’t laugh, didn’t stare or curse. He wouldn’t mess this up for himself, <em> couldn’t </em>. </p><p> </p><p><em> You’ll make your family proud. </em> </p><p> </p><p><em> You’ll make your family proud. </em> </p><p> </p><p>Suddenly his brother pulled open the doors to one of the carriages, revealing two other boys behind the frosted glass. One was lankier than the other, tall and wiry with mousy brown hair and a thin pink scar running across his face. The other was shorter, rounder, with cheeks that pulled up in a kind sort of smile, blonde hair ruffled up by nervous hands. </p><p> </p><p>“Long time no see, gentlemen.” Sirius strutted into the cabin with a confidence Regulus had never seen before, greeting each of the other boys with a full bodied hug before sinking down on the bench next to the taller boy, throwing an arm around his shoulder and kicking up his feet. He stared at Regulus, brows raised. “Well go on then Reggie, introduce yourself.”</p><p> </p><p>“Uh –– yeah, hello. I’m <em> Regulus </em> .” <em> Fuck </em> if he was going to let that nickname follow him to school. </p><p>He stumbled over his words, shooting a warning look at his older brother that was promptly ignored. </p><p> </p><p>“Oh well hello then, Regulus,” the round-faced boy spoke up first, “I’m Peter. S’nice to meet you, mate.” </p><p> </p><p><em> Peter </em> , he remembered the boy’s name from Sirius’ letters. <em> Real nice bloke, bit of a cling on but the best guy around for a laugh, really </em> –– that’s what he said. Based on his clothes, Regulus assumed the other boy must’ve been Remus, his brother’s self-proclaimed <em> “favorite swot.” </em> A halfblood, too. </p><p> </p><p>“Remus Lupin,” the other boy held out his hand, a slight welsh accent slipping through. Notably middle class. “Sirius told us all about you. Said you might be joining us in Gryffindor, if we’re lucky.”</p><p> </p><p>Regulus blanched at the insinuation, stuttering through the obligatory handshake with a hum of feigned agreement. <em> Gryffindor </em> . His mother would have his <em> head </em> if he wrote home on anything other than parchment lined with green and silver. </p><p> </p><p>“Wishful thinking s’all,” Sirius sighed as Regulus settled at the empty end of the carriage beside the window. “Besides, Reggie’s too good to go against mum and dad. Follows the rules and all that.” </p><p> </p><p>And that was the never ending debate, wasn’t it? <em> Too good </em> , according to his brother. <em> Never good enough </em>, according to everyone else. </p><p> </p><p>“We know who the smart brother is, then.” Peter mumbled, clumsily dodging a punch from Sirius, the book that flew towards him shortly after. “Hey! I’m just saying. Plus, self preservation. That’s a Slytherin trait if I’ve ever heard one.” </p><p> </p><p>Remus raised his brows in agreement, much to Sirius’ displeasure.</p><p> </p><p>“Sod off, Pete. No brother of mine is going to share a house with <em> Snivellus </em>. I’d rather him go knit daisy chains in Hufflepuff. Honest.” </p><p> </p><p>“Who’s <em> Snivellus?” </em> Regulus rolled the word across his tongue, deciding by the sneer on his brother’s face that the nickname belonged to an enemy of sorts. Sirius had a real knack for that, after all, making enemies. </p><p> </p><p>“Only the greasiest git to ever walk the hallowed halls of Hogwarts,” a boy interrupted from the door before his brother could answer, round glasses sitting crooked on his nose, hair sticking up in every possible direction. </p><p> </p><p>“Too right,” His brother agreed mindlessly, only a few moments later recognizing the new arrival. Then he shot up, practically tackling the boy in the doorway, planting a wet kiss against both his cheeks. “James you could not have arrived at a more perfect time, mate. Truly.” </p><p> </p><p>Regulus glanced at the other two boys to gauge their reactions, only to find that neither seemed to pay any mind to the scene their friends were causing. Peter was picking at a string on his robes, completely unbothered. Remus yawned, chuckling at the surprise that covered Regulus’ face. “You’ll get used to it –– them. Real pair of idiots, they are.” </p><p> </p><p>“My ears are burning, Remus.” James sang, walking over to the lanky boy and slumping down beside him. “Don’t say such nice things about me unless you mean them.” </p><p> </p><p>“Someone has to fill him in,” Remus nodded across the carriage to where Regulus sat, growing more and more overwhelmed by the second. </p><p> </p><p>“Merlin’s balls, if it isn’t a miniature Sirius.” James gawked, catching himself before leaning across to pat him on the back. “James Potter, it’s nice to meet you. Been looking forward to it all summer, really.” </p><p> </p><p><em> Potter. </em> </p><p>Suddenly, Regulus was desperate to run along and find a carriage on his own. An empty one, perhaps. It felt like he was back at one of those godsforsaken banquets, forced to greet strangers and make small talk. He hated it, wanted to curl up into a ball, crawl out of his skin, or, at the very least, get the hell away from that ever-shrinking train car. </p><p> </p><p>“Manners, Reggie.” Sirius kicked his shin when he failed to respond to James’ over-enthusiastic greeting, snapping him out of his impending social spiral. He coughed out a <em> hello </em> and offered his hand, just enough to satisfy his brother who immediately launched into conversation with his friends about the Chudley Cannons newest recruits and some rubbish about a girl named <em> Alice Cooper </em>. </p><p> </p><p>Regulus relished in the opportunity to drift off from his new reality, sucking in his first real breath since stepping onto the train minutes before. After an entire year on his own he’d almost forgotten what it was like to be around other children, to laugh and talk and just <em> be </em>. It was exhausting, really. </p><p>He shut out the sounds of the other boys’ chatter, counted his breaths and turned to watch the station drift away, the happy families waving goodbye to their children. And for a moment he caught himself searching, combing through the faces for deep green robes lined with satin and carefully pinned hair, for pursed lips, for someone, <em> anyone </em>, familiar. Searching for someone who was not there, who never would be. </p><p> </p><p>His mother’s absence shouldn’t have disappointed him, he knew better than to expect her. But silently he wondered what it might be like, to have a mother, a father, who pushed their way to the front of that crowd for you. Who kissed you goodbye and waved and screamed well wishes as you rode away. </p><p>He found himself lost in those thoughts, dreaming up all sorts of scenarios as the view from outside his window changed from brick to steel to shades of green. It was lovely, watching the city shift to the countryside, but his peaceful observation was put to an abrupt halt when a flash of black curls filled the edge of his vision, the smell of warm spun sugar on the air. </p><p> </p><p>“Hi,” a girl appeared to his right, beaming with a kind of excitement he was sure he’d never seen before. “I’m Johanne-Merie –– James’ sister, of course. You must be Regulus.” </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Another Potter, fuck me. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>He wasn’t sure he liked that she knew his name, the way it rolled off her tongue like she’d said it a hundred times. He studied her closely, eyes narrowed with a sort of scrutiny that others might consider rude, but she didn’t seem to mind. She only smiled, studied him right back, all the while wiggling in her seat like a child on Christmas morning. It might have been the most obnoxious thing he’d ever witnessed, her energy too large, too bright for the cramped train car. </p><p>He would have been content to ignore her entirely, if it weren’t for his brother’s expectant stare. Sirius put her up to this, he knew, judging by the shit eating grin on his face, on the faces of his friends. </p><p> </p><p>“Uh yeah ––” Regulus rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly suffocating inside of his primly buttoned robes. “Yeah, I am.” </p><p> </p><p>“You’ll have to forgive him for the lack of social skills little Potter,” Sirius smirked from across the compartment. “Been stuck with my mother and father for a whole year on his own. Takes a bit of a toll on you, believe me.” </p><p> </p><p>“Sirius,” Remus scolded under his breath, less quietly than he might have imagined, and dug his elbow into Sirius’ side. “Leave him alone.” </p><p> </p><p>Regulus flushed at his brother’s words, at Remus’ admonition, keeping his eyes trained on his hands. He hated that sort of attention. </p><p> </p><p>“Oh, that’s alright. I did come barreling right in didn’t I?” She tucked her head down to catch Regulus’ eye, giving him an easier smile than before. “It’s a Potter thing, I’m afraid. Sorry if I startled you.” Her voice was softer then, more careful. </p><p> </p><p>“You didn’t.” Regulus assured her, or at least he tried to. He wasn’t sure she was convinced by his attempt at a polite smile but his brother was certainly amused, poorly concealing his laughter from across the car before receiving another stern glare from Remus. </p><p> </p><p>“I’ll have to try harder next time, then.” She bumped his arm with hers, settling back into her seat with a smile. </p><p> </p><p>It was the least lady-like thing he’d ever seen, the way she sat beside him on the tufted cushion with her legs tucked up to her chest, arms wrapped around herself and chin resting on her knees. In a skirt, no less. </p><p> </p><p>They were purebloods, the Potters, and Regulus found it hard to believe that <em> anyone </em> raised in such a family would dare act the way she did. Did her mother not teach her how a girl should behave? If not, he was certain his own mother would love to give her a lesson. </p><p> </p><p>And he might have been able to ignore her indecency entirely if she weren’t so close to him. <em> Unnaturally </em> close, their robes brushing every time she took a breath. There was room for three whole people on the other side of her for Merlin’s sake, the rest of the bench only occupied by Peter on the far end. He had half a mind to offer his own seat to her, if only to put some space between them. </p><p> </p><p>But of course, that’d be rude. Instead he scooted towards the window as discreetly as he could manage, placed his hands in his lap and shrugged in his shoulders before turning his attention to his nails, picking at his cuticles in a futile attempt to seem unbothered. It was one of his less becoming habits, he could admit, but if <em> she </em> could sit that way then he could indulge himself too. Just for a minute.</p><p>And it really only was a minute. One long, sweet minute before she shattered his silence again. He was starting to believe that was the longest she could go without speaking.  </p><p> </p><p>“Are you nervous?” Johanne piped up beside him, nodding to his now-bleeding thumb.</p><p> </p><p>Regulus immediately stilled his hands, wrapping them both into fists. “No.” He answered shortly, his jaw clenched. He sat up taller then, head centered the way his mother liked. He wasn’t nervous, just –– bothered. </p><p>He wasn’t quite used to people paying attention to him the way she did, all discerning looks and forthright questions. And if she was really so perceptive then how could she not see that it was <em> her </em> that was making him so nervous. </p><p> </p><p>No. Not nervous. <em> Bothered. </em></p><p> </p><p>“I am,” she answered her own question as if he hadn’t just brushed it off, “First real time away from home. And I’m not sure where I’d like to be sorted, you know? Mum was a Slytherin and Dad was a Gryffindor... I think they’d be happy either way, and of course James wants me to go to Gryffindor but I think I might like to find my own way. Where I belong and all that. Not sure I’d fit in much in Ravenclaw, but I suppose you never know. It just feels strange to be sorted when we haven’t even shown them who we are yet. <em> We </em> don’t know who we are yet. I guess––”</p><p> </p><p>She stopped talking as soon as she turned her attention back to his face, and Regulus was certain she caught the way his eyes widened, studied her like she was some sort of otherworldly being. A crumbling tablet of runes that he couldn’t seem to decode. </p><p> </p><p>“Oh, I’m sorry.” Her cheeks turned pink, a shy smile on her lips. “I’m rambling, aren’t I?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes.” Regulus spoke candidly, as he always did, but regretted his tone when he noticed her flinch. Just barely, skin pinched around her eyes. He cursed himself for letting his botherdness (read: nervousness) take priority over his manners. He was still a gentleman after all, even if <em>she</em> was not much of a lady. </p><p> </p><p>“I tend to do that,” she explained quickly, “Run away with a conversation, I mean. It’s just that there’s so much going on in my head and it all spills over sometimes. Afraid I might explode if I try and hold it in.” </p><p> </p><p>There was something strangely refreshing about her in that moment, Regulus thought. No mention of the topics his governess deemed <em> appropriate </em> for conversations with strangers –– classic literature and travel and polite inquiries about family. Instead, she ran along an unfiltered stream of consciousness with ease and flushed cheeks. It was both too much and not enough all at once. He couldn’t help but indulge her further. </p><p> </p><p>“And that was just a <em> ‘spill’ </em>?” He teased, mouth still set in a firm line but humor dancing in his eyes and on his words. Johanne didn’t quite know him well enough to notice, of course. He was sure she thought he was a right git, making jokes at her expense. </p><p> </p><p>“Oh, yes.” She blushed deeper, letting out a nervous giggle that was as melodic as any he’d ever heard. And for a moment, he thought it might be worth it to let her ramble on, if it meant he could hear her laugh like that again.</p><p> </p><p>“You’ll have to stop me, for your own sake, or else I’ll go on for ages. I’m just ––” </p><p> </p><p>“Nervous?” He finished for her, the ghost of a smile lingering in his voice, held back by raveling threads. It materialized from its spectral form under the warmth of her own toothy grin, like a reflex he’d only just then discovered. </p><p> </p><p>“Exactly.” She hummed, returning her eyes thoughtfully to the window, the Scottish countryside passing in a wash of green and blue. Satisfied, for the moment, that she’d said all she needed to.</p><p> </p><p>He let his hands fall from his lap, relaxed his curled shoulders, lost in his thoughts again as he watched the scenery alongside her. Only this time he wasn’t thinking about his mother, or father, or lack thereof; he was thinking about <em> her. </em>Or her words, at least. They blurred all of the careful lines he’d drawn in his head, dug up feelings he’d long since buried. </p><p>Afraid of leaving his home behind. Uncertain of where he’d be sorted. Anxious to find somewhere he belonged. <em> Bothered. </em>Not nervous. </p><p> </p><p>It wasn’t long before his hands found eachother again, a familiar pattern carved by his nails around one another while his mind raced, his mother’s voice playing again and again.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Don’t let your brother sully your reputation alongside his. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> You’ll do so well, my boy. In Slytherin. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Generations of Blacks are counting on you. </em>
</p><p> </p><p><em> You’ll make your family proud. </em> </p><p> </p><p>Regulus only noticed he’d started up the nasty habit again when he felt her hand on top of his, stopping his anxious fumbling entirely. His face warmed, thoroughly embarrassed that she’d noticed the behavior at all, but if she thought it was strange she didn’t show it. </p><p>He let his hands fall back to his sides. She didn’t move hers at all. And they stayed that way, not quite <em> holding </em> but touching with far too much intention to be called an accident, obscured by robes and legs and feigned indifference.</p><p>She studied him. He studied her. And things remained silent between them for a moment before she spoke again, squeezing her fingers around his.  </p><p> </p><p>“It’s all right, Regulus. We can be <em> not </em> nervous together.”</p><p>
  <br/>
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</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Tout Ira Bien</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Regulus always had a certain affinity for lists. </p><p>Lists of any kind, really. Of table manners that his governess asked him to work on, of times of the day when his mother was particularly volatile, of songs he was to learn on the violin and poems he was to commit to memory. </p><p>Lists that were long –– of the constellations he’d recognized in the sky during trips to the family chateau. Lists that were short –– of the times he’d seen his father smile. Lists that were somewhere in between –– of dreams and favorite books and questions he was sure there were no answers to. </p><p>Lists and lists and lists. He’d been making them all his life. </p><p>But, for as many as they were, he’d never written them down. Some too insignificant, deemed a waste of parchment and ink. Some too important, better hidden from prying eyes. And of course there were the lists that fell in between the two extremes, no rhyme or reason to their existence. </p><p>He supposed that’s where his most recent list would fall. In between, that is. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Johanne-Merie Potter: Paragon or Pest?  </em>
</p><p>A comprehensive record of each and every observation Regulus had made about the wild-haired girl since making her acquaintance, including but not limited to:</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Chews on her lip when she is nervous.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> No concept of personal space. At all.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Doesn’t have a mind for manners. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Hums to herself when she is trying not to talk.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Goes out of her way to make friends with strangers. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Likes to make direct eye contact. Unsettling.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> A sugar quill will shut her up for at least five minutes.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Afraid of the dark. Claims that she isn’t. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Remembers everything. Watch what you say to her.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Like any good list, it was a work in progress –– room for items to be added or emphasized or crossed out entirely –– but Regulus was quite proud of where it stood given the limited amount of time he’d spent with the girl. </p><p>He prided himself on his ability to avoid rash judgements of character, watching and waiting until he had the full picture of a person. So, when it came to the overarching debate –– <em> paragon or pest </em> –– he supposed the Wizengamot was still out, not enough evidence for either side to make a convincing argument. In the meantime, he tucked Johanne’s list away amongst the others. </p><p>And there were others. Upwards of a hundred, if he had to guess. The result of an unfortunately shy demeanor and an aptitude for shrewd observation, both of which he blamed on his father’s influence. </p><p>Lists for his great aunts and second cousins and uncles once-removed, for his father’s business partners and his mother’s tea guests and the children he was forced to play with on sunday afternoons. </p><p>Only, Johanne’s list was different from the rest. Far more personal, given her transparency. Far more detailed, given her proclivity for nervous chatter. It was positively unnerving. One train ride, two kilometers across the Black Lake, three hundred steps to the front doors of the Great Hall and he could swear he already knew the girl. </p><p>Worse yet –– he could swear she already knew him. </p><p>His only comfort laid in the fact that she seemed to have the same influence on everyone she met. </p><p>First, it was the misplaced muggleborns. She’d hardly stepped foot off of the train before she spotted them standing clumped together, wide-eyed in <em> one size fits all </em> robes. She greeted them with the same introduction he’d been afforded –– a beaming smile, <em> Hi I’m Johanne-Merie, </em>listening to each of their names and repeating them back with a fondness too warm to be false, melted away their nerves with ease. </p><p>
  <em> Oh, I’m so glad to have met all of you. You have so much to be excited about, you know? No need to be nervous. And just wait until you see the castle... Well come on then, we can walk together to the boats.  </em>
</p><p>He followed at a distance as she herded them like a mother hen to the shore of the Black Lake, counted them off into fours and into boats so that no one was left behind, and called goodbye to each of them by name –– confident, as if she’d somehow done this a hundred times before.</p><p>Then she turned to find him, grabbed his wrist, and pulled him further down the edge of the lake. Correction –– he <em> let her </em> pull him further down the edge of the lake (in hindsight, even Regulus could admit he didn’t have much choice in the matter.)</p><p>Next, it was the Carrows. He wasn’t quite sure <em> how </em> she’d made their acquaintance so quickly, but before he knew it he was seated inside of a boat with the two of them, Johanne by his side. The siblings weren't the most approachable pair admittedly, dark robes and features resting in frowns that aged them far past their years, but she paid no notice.. </p><p>She roped in Alecto first, carrying on with the red haired girl like they’d known one another for years. Meanwhile, Regulus had quite a bit of fun himself, watching Amycus’ face as he observed the girls’ interaction. Bleak, pained, something between a grimace and a sneer. He wondered if that was how he looked too, when he met her only a few hours before. </p><p>But slowly the boy’s disdain turned to acceptance as he warmed up to Johanne, charmed by a few well placed jokes and curious questions. He wondered if there was <em> anyone </em> she couldn’t crack.</p><p>The cycle happened again and again –– when she saw a girl carrying a book she’d been meaning to read, another who was walking alone, two friends who clung to each other nervously, a boy whose poorly tailored robes tripped up his feet –– not stopping until they finally made their way into the castle. </p><p>She slipped into a stunned silence alongside the other children, standing on the grand staircase and gripping tight around the banister, taking in every last detail of the entry hall. A glimpse of something that made her <em> real </em>. Chewing on her lip. Nervous.</p><p>Regulus stood just behind her with his back against one of the stone columns, watching in suspicious amusement as some of Johanne’s muggle-born strays gawked over the simplest of things.</p><p>Lanterns and portraits? Surely they had those in their little side of the world, as backwards as it was. But still they oohed and ahhed and leaned over to ask a hundred questions of Johanne as if they’d never seen the bloody things before. </p><p>
  <em> Are those real people inside the paintings? How did they get there? Is someone really levitating all of those lanterns? You mean you’ve known about this place all your life? Can magic really do all this?  </em>
</p><p>Despite her growing nerves she was patient and kind and explained every single thing like it was her first time seeing it too, reassuring smiles that made even the daftest questions seem inspired. And when one of the young girls’ eyes filled with overwhelmed tears Johanne was quick to wipe them away. </p><p><em> Filth </em> –– Regulus heard his mother’s voice echo when her hand brushed across the girl’s cheek. She didn’t even care to wipe it clean after she let go, simply letting it fall back to her side as if it were perfectly normal to touch people like them. </p><p>Unfortunately, he wasn’t the only one who noticed her strange behavior. A scoff sounded from just behind him –– Barty Crouch Jr., a friend from his family’s social circles. Acquaintance, really. (Crouch’s list was fairly short and focused largely on the rodent-like resemblance he had to his father. What, with the fidgety hands and all.) </p><p>“Guess it runs in the family, huh?” he sneered, “It’s no wonder my father told me to stay away from them.” </p><p>“Mine too,” Regulus mumbled, guilt settling in over his blatant defiance of his mother’s instruction. It was unfortunate, he thought, that she had to be so obvious about her lack of pureblood propriety. He’d have to add that to her list.</p><p>“The stupid bint.” Barty scoffed. “Waste of a perfectly good bloodline if you ask me.” </p><p>Regulus winced when he saw Johanne’s shoulders tense, his friend’s nasty words cutting through idle conversation like a hot knife. She seemed to consider her options for a moment, taking a deep breath before she whipped her head around and glared at the rat-faced boy, a fire in her eyes that revealed none of the gentle demeanor Regulus had seen before. </p><p>It was then that he decided he never wanted to be the one on the receiving end of a look like that. </p><p>He stood still as the dead, hoping that maybe, <em> maybe </em>, if he held his breath long enough he’d fade away into the grey stone, avoiding the impending conflict entirely. Instead, it was Crouch that did the fading, his confidence withering away like a weed under the girl’s stare. Regulus smiled to himself. </p><p>An addition to the list –– <em> Below the flower, thorns. </em>He supposed that one balanced out some of the less-favorable items. And no, the terrified look on Barty’s face had nothing to do with his judgement, thank you very much. </p><p>“What’re you smiling for, Black?” Crouch grabbed the back of Regulus’ robes, but was cut off by a witch’s throat clearing, the sound bouncing off of the carved stone walls. Little blessings, Regulus thought, that he was spared from whatever drivel the boy had prepared.</p><p>“Quiet now, quiet.” The older witch stood at the top of the grand staircase, her thick Scottish accent cutting through the hum of chatter, “Good evening, students. My name is Professor Minerva McGonagall, and I have the great honor of welcoming each and every one of you to your first year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.</p><p>“Soon, you will take your seats among the rest of the students in the Great Hall for the start-of-term feast, but first you must join in one of the dearest traditions in Hogwarts history –– the Sorting Ceremony.”</p><p>Students all around him broke into nervous conversation, looking as uncertain as Regulus felt. He heard Johanne explain to the children beside her, “It’s nothing to worry about, really. My brother told me all about it this summer. Just a hat. It’s enchanted to help you find the house where you belong.”</p><p>She made it sound so simple. And maybe it was, just not for him. </p><p>“Yes, yes, there is much to be excited about. Now, do quiet down.” the Professor continued, “You’ll follow me into the Great Hall. Then we can begin.” </p><p>A set of grand oak doors opened at the top of the stairs, revealing a large room full of black robes and long wooden tables filled with reuniting friends. Everyone moved at once, pushing up the stairs before they were stopped again by the witch’s stern scottish tone. </p><p>“In an orderly fashion, please. I assure you, no one will be left behind.” </p><p>The admonishment did little to slow down the students, who still moved into the hall with an anxious sort of excitement, studied by the curious eyes of the older students around them. Regulus could practically feel the expectant eyes that landed on him from the far end of the hall, his cousin Narcissa’s stare eerily similar to that of his mother. </p><p>He’d hardly turned his head in her direction before he was pinned by her silvery stare, eyes narrowed and questioning –– <em> You know what is expected of you? </em> He gave an imperceptible nod –– <em> Yes. </em> She seemed satisfied by that, turning back to sink into the side of Lucius Malfoy, her platinum-haired <em> betrothed. </em> </p><p>Regulus wasn’t sure what she saw in the older boy, if he was honest. Lucius was stone faced and cruel and had a special way of making everyone around him feel small –– much like his father –– but she was enamored with him nonetheless, just as he seemed to be with her. </p><p>He supposed they were lucky, given the other unfortunate pureblood pairings he’d witnessed. Weddings that appeared to be more like prison sentences, timid wives and overbearing husbands. </p><p>“Look,” Johanne’s awed whisper pulled his attention from the dark reflection of his own fate. She tugged on the sleeve of his robe, nodding up towards the ceiling that was charmed midnight blue and starry. “Isn’t it beautiful?”</p><p>The landscape reflected above the Hall was nothing more than a mirror to the <em> real </em> sky that lay just outside the castle walls, Regulus realized. Clearer, perhaps, but nothing worth gawking over. </p><p>Still she stared and stared, a little smile on her lips as she spun around to take in the entire scene. He wondered what exactly she saw that he couldn’t. Her world seemed to be brighter, more magical than his own. </p><p>“Where are you?” She turned to him, the glow of hovering candles bouncing off of amber eyes. </p><p>“Uh –– right here?” He answered, confused by her question. </p><p>“No, not <em> this </em> you,” she laughed, pointing upwards, “ <em> That </em> you. Regulus. You’re a star right?” She waited for him to nod before continuing, tilting her head back towards the makeshift sky. “Tell me how to find you.”</p><p>“Can’t. You won’t be able to see me. I mean ––<em> it. </em> ” He corrected himself, “You won’t be able to see <em> it.” </em></p><p>She chewed on her lip, trying and failing to hold back her next question. “Why not?”</p><p>He sighed, “It’s too close to the Sun this time of year. All that light just –– drowns it out I guess. Might as well be invisible next to something like that.” </p><p>“That’s too bad.” She pulled a curl between her fingers absentmindedly. “You’ll show me some other time then? Once you move away from the Sun? I’d really like to see.” </p><p>His eyes were drawn to his brother’s namesake, shining brilliantly in pulsing prisms of color. <em> Look at him instead. </em> Regulus wanted to say to her. <em> Sirius </em> . <em> The brightest star in the entire sky –– not even the Sun can drown him out. He’s the one people care about seeing, not me. </em></p><p>“Regulus?” She nudged his side, “Promise you’ll show me?” </p><p>“Yeah. Yeah, sure.” He hummed, shifting his weight between his feet. It was a silly thing to promise, likely to be forgotten amongst the tumultuous weeks to come, but it seemed to satisfy her nonetheless. </p><p>She brought her eyes back from the mirrored sky, pushing up onto her toes to get a better look at Professor McGonagall as she began to speak again. </p><p>The witch cleared her throat, “Good evening students, and welcome to another year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.” The room fluttered with the claps and cheers of children refreshed from summer holiday. “I trust that each of you will welcome our newest additions with open arms, of course. Leading by example, on your best behavior.” </p><p>Regulus could swear the Professor was staring directly at the Gryffindor table when she spoke her last words, eyes narrowed in on the smug faces of his brother and James Potter. </p><p>“For those who don’t know,” She addressed the crowd of first-years again, “You will now have the great honor of being sorted into one of Hogwarts’ four houses –– Ravenclaw, Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, or Slytherin. All fine houses in their own right.” </p><p>
  <em> Orion and Walburga Black would beg to differ.  </em>
</p><p>Each house’s respective table clapped and cheered as their name was called, large banners unfurling from the great beams above. Blue, Crimson, Gold, Green. Regulus’ eyes stayed glued to the table of snakes on the far end of the room, black robes and emerald ties. </p><p>“Your house will become your family during your stay at Hogwarts,” Professor McGonagall continued, “and you will join together across years to garner house points based on academics, service, and your respective team’s performance on the quidditch pitch. Of course, you will not have to bear the burden of choice in the matter. For that, we have something special.”</p><p>He saw Johanne’s shoulders tense as the professor pulled an old leather hat from the air, resting it on top of the stool beside her. It was awfully decrepit, the poor thing, and Regulus wondered how it stayed together at all. </p><p>“This is it.” Johanne whispered, turning to look up at him with her teeth digging into her lip and worry flashing across her eyes. She was a picture of anxiety then, rocking back and forth on her toes and driving Regulus mad. </p><p>He wanted her to stop. For selfish reasons, admittedly. But he couldn’t very well grab her, could he? He couldn’t hiss in her ear to <em> stop bloody fidgeting </em> or pull her already bitten lip from between her teeth. </p><p>Instead he stepped closer behind her, staggered just off to her side, and offered up the only thing he could. Words. Three of them, to be exact. Words that were familiar and special and spoken in sleepy tones of comfort by his brother after particularly difficult nights. </p><p>“Tout ira bien.” He leaned down to speak close to her ear as not to disrupt the speech that carried on in the background, explaining the order in which the students would be called, where they were to go once they’d been sorted. </p><p>She smiled then and stopped rocking. He’d never been so proud. <em> Words matter to her </em>, he added to his list.</p><p>He watched as her curiosity bubbled over into a whisper, her eyes still trained forward. “French? What does it mean?” </p><p>“It will be all right.” He watched her smile grow as she repeated the sentiment back to him, fumbling over the pronunciation and blending the words into one. </p><p>She looked to him expectantly, “Was that right?”</p><p>“Oui,” he nodded, settling for a white lie. It was better than his first lessons with his governess, after all, and worth the fib to watch the way her nerves faded into a giggle. She stood taller, repeating the words under her breath as a sort of mantra. </p><p><em> Tout ira bien. Tout ira bien. </em>He repeated it to himself as well, as names began to be called.</p><p>“Let’s begin, shall we? First, Mr. Henry Abrams.”</p><p>Regulus watched as a nervous looking boy made his way up the stairs, stumbling over the length of his robes before he settled on the wooden stool. The hat was lowered to his head, resting for a moment while the boy’s eyes squeezed shut. The entire hall was silent, anticipating the first of many fates to be decided that evening. </p><p><em> Tout ira bien. </em> Regulus wondered if the rumors were true. Did the hat <em> really </em> speak to you before spouting out your fate?</p><p>It was doing some sort of thinking, he decided, based on the amount of time it sat dormant on the boy’s head. Ten seconds that felt like a thousand. More silence, then –– “Ah, yes. You’ll do well in RAVENCLAW!” The voice coming from the hat echoed across the room alongside celebratory cheers from the boy’s new house, flutters of black and blue robes in the air. </p><p>The rest of the children waiting to be sorted stood still, eyes wide and wracked by nerves. All of them except for Johanne, of course. She clapped softly for the boy, her worries long forgotten. The list of names went on. </p><p> </p><p>Adams. Aja. Allen. Ardell. Attenborough. Beck. Bichet. <em> Black </em>. </p><p> </p><p>Black. </p><p> </p><p>“Mr. Regulus Black.” </p><p>Johanne turned to let Regulus pass and he fought off a smile when he heard her stumble over the French sentiment yet again, but it wasn’t long before the sound of her voice was replaced by a faint ringing in his ears. The pressure of expectations pouring in on him from each side of the massive hall. </p><p>He sat down on the rickety stool, scanning the room in front of him<em> .  </em></p><p>Sirius smiled at him from the Gryffindor table as if to say, <em> you can get away too Reggie. </em> Narcissa narrowed her eyes at him from the Slytherin table as if to say, <em> don’t you dare. </em> Pulled violently in both directions, he was sure that his head was a right mess by the time the Sorting Hat was placed on it. </p><p>He could only hope that the hat could hear the way he screamed, <em> Slytherin, Slytherin, Slytherin. </em></p><p><em>Slytherin, you say? </em>He startled when he heard the hat whisper in his ear. <em>Oh yes, another Black.</em> <em>Always an easy decision until your brother came along. Tell me, are you much like him? Desperate to… what did he say again? Get away?</em></p><p>“No.” Regulus mumbled, brows furrowed. He wasn’t brave or daring or selfless. “I’m not at all like him.” </p><p><em> My dear boy, you don’t have to speak aloud. </em> The hat had the nerve to laugh at him. <em> You forget I can hear your very thoughts. See them. </em></p><p><em> Slytherin, then. </em> Regulus projected the thought towards the front of his mind. </p><p><em> Ah yes, the obvious choice </em> . <em> But with a brain like yours... Quite clever, you are. Perhaps Ravenclaw instead. I can see a bright future for you there indeed. </em></p><p>It was then that the panic started to settle in, pricking at his skin and squeezing around his lungs. <em> Ravenclaw?! </em> Oh, that might be even worse than Gryffindor in his mother and father’s eyes. He could feel the stinging jinxes already. </p><p> </p><p><em> You’ll make your family proud. </em> </p><p> </p><p><em> You’ll make your family proud. </em> </p><p> </p><p><em> Slytherin. </em> He insisted once more. <em> Stupid sodding hat. Slytherin. Slytherin. Slytherin.  </em></p><p>“If you insist,” the hat spoke louder this time. “Better be –– SLYTHERIN!”</p><p>As soon as the hat’s decision echoed across the hall, Regulus could breathe again. <em> Finally. </em>Finally he’d done something right. </p><p>He jumped down from the stool with renewed confidence, avoiding the disappointed stare of his brother and focusing instead on the curly haired girl who’d pushed her way to the front of the crowd of students, watching carefully for his reaction. </p><p>When he smiled at her, it was all she needed to see. She clapped right along with the table of rowdy Slytherins, beaming as if to say –– <em> tout ira bien. </em> </p><p> </p><p><em> Yes </em> , he thought as he made his way towards his new house’s table, holding his breath through a suffocating hug from Narcissa, a stiff handshake from Lucius. <em> Things might be all right after all.  </em></p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
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